


Angel

by SidheMail



Category: Thor (Movies)
Genre: F/M, SPOILERS FOR THOR 2!!!!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-18
Updated: 2013-11-18
Packaged: 2018-01-01 23:16:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,946
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1049736
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SidheMail/pseuds/SidheMail
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She was with me through my incarceration/I want to show the nation/My appreciation</p>
            </blockquote>





	Angel

**Author's Note:**

> The usual disclaimer applies. I don't know anything; I never did know anything. At least I know that I don't know. 
> 
> Though I did spend like 60 whole seconds researching Viking weddings! So that's something, at least.
> 
> I hope you enjoy!
> 
> NOTE:  
> Sorry about the spacing! That is what you get for posting without preview. All fixed now!

This, Sif thought, was not how she had expected her life to turn out.

She regarded herself, dripping in bridal finery. She was clothed in an under-gown of glittering  
white samite, soft as butter to the touch. Her over-gown was cloth of silver, twinkling star-like in the  
light of a thousand lamps and torches. Her hands were heavy with rings, and a crown of elegant  
platinum filigree set with seven star sapphires sat atop her head.

The surface she was examining herself in happened to be the burnished golden patch that  
covered the Allfather's missing eye.

While her thoughts seemed to have wandered to an altogether different place (perhaps that  
“happy place” that Thor's Jane spoke of) her body seemed to be behaving well enough. When Odin  
presented her with a sword, she took it gracefully.

Tradition dictated that the sword be one borne by the groom's ancestor. From the look of the  
thing, it must have been a very long dead and rather peculiar ancestor. Both the hilt and the blade of the sword  
were formed of some kind of matte black stone. The blade was chipped and pitted with time, and there  
was a depression in the pommel that looked as if it had held a jewel at some point. 

Sif shuddered to think what ancient barrow Odin had been required to break into in order to  
retrieve it.

Just as they had practiced it, she beckoned to her cousin (a cherubic page boy with wide eyes  
and trembling hands) who stepped forward with a brand new sword for the Allfather to take in return,  
newly forged by the dwarves for this occasion.

They exchanged rings. Sif's vows seemed to speak themselves. She was glad to hear that they  
did so in an even, clear tone that would certainly be heard by those in the back of the throne room. She  
slid a gold ring onto Odin's ancient, gnarled hand, and accepted the one he placed on hers. He lifted her  
hand high, and a thunderous cheer filled the hall.

Long live the King! Long Live the Queen!

He threw her a look. A look that was possessive and primal, almost feral. Lust and pride mixed  
there, in equal measure.

She offered him what she hoped was a convincing smile, and followed him as he led her to the  
wedding feast.

“I must ask you something,” Thor said in her ear, pitched too low to be heard by the raucous feasters around them.

“Yes?”

“Now that you are my evil stepmother, do you plan on forbidding me to go to the ball?”

Sif laughed, and it felt so good. There had been far too little laughter in her since Malekith's  
invasion of Asgard.

“I am pleased to see that Thor is keeping you entertained, Wife,” Odin said from his place beside her, at the center of the table.

Wife.

Sif felt the dregs of merriment drain from her, leaving only a now familiar numbness. She  
wondered in a vague way whether she was going to feel this way forever.

Did it really matter? Nothing seemed to matter very much, of late.

She picked at her food and sipped at her mead until Odin rose and announced that he and his  
new bride would now retire. The announcement was met by a cheer that was more than a little drunken  
and more than a little bawdy in tone.

She met Thor's eyes, and he smiled at her. You can do this, his smile said. 

She gave him a shaky smile in return, and followed her husband out of the feasting hall.

He led her to his own chambers. He had announced before the marriage that Frigga's chambers  
were to remain untouched, and a shrine to her memory. Until such time as a suite of rooms could be  
renovated in another wing of the castle, Sif was to share the King's chambers.

No escape, then. Not even in sleep.

“I shall retire to my dressing chamber, in order to give you a moment to change, my lady.” Odin  
said as they stopped before the great carved oak doors. He raised her hand to his lips and brushed a  
brief, dry kiss across her knuckles. With that, he left.

When Sif stepped inside the bedchamber, she found it filled with both her possessions (installed  
by servants) and a stunning array of wedding gifts. She picked amongst the jeweled weapons, priceless  
treasures, and ancient artifacts delivered to the Allfather from all over the Nine Realms until she found  
the section of gifts for her, and among those until she found the gifts that mattered the most.

Fandral had sent a bottle of her favorite scent. Volstagg has sent a basket of sweetmeats,  
containing all the kinds she liked best. A bouquet of the ruby red lilies that grow only in Vanaheimr was  
her gift from Hogun, and they filled the room with their fragrance.

Thor had sent her a huge jug of ale from her favorite tavern, bless him.

She poured a little into one of the silver drinking horns that some small noble in Alfheimr had  
gifted to the new Allmother, and began removing her bridal finery.

She should have had a maid to assist her in this, but she had demanded to be left alone on this  
one occasion. She needed the time to gather herself.

Or she had thought she would, anyway. She did not feel in dismayed now. She did not feel  
much of anything.

She struggled out of her dress and the corset beneath with a contented sigh, and slipped on the  
nightgown of fine white silk that had been left out for her. Then she sat before Odin's dresser of dark  
wood, carved with scenes of the hunt. Her brushes and combs had been laid out on the dresser's black  
marble top, and she began to brush out her hair, the movements mechanical.

She examined her own face in the mirror. She was a bit pale, perhaps, but other than that there  
were no outward signs of distress. She looked as numb as she felt.

When had the feeling of being trapped in a bad dream faded to this … nothing, she wondered.  
She could not pinpoint a moment when one became the other. She just knew that she had been frantic,  
and now she was resigned.

What she could pinpoint was the moment the nightmare had begun, which was when, nearly  
two months before, Odin had emerged from his chambers for the first time since Frigga's death. Many  
in the palace had whispered that the Odinsleep must be coming upon him, but when he reappeared he  
looked as hale and hearty as ever.

And it was then that she realized he had changed toward her.

He did not speak to her any differently (though he did seem to require her presence more than  
usual). What changed was the way that he looked at her.

Sif was no stranger to odd looks from men. Especially not looks of longing or hunger. What she  
was not used to was seeing the Allfather look at her that way, as if he were a wolf in winter and she was  
the last hare left in the wood.

Finally she mentioned it to her friends.

“I have noticed that he seems to be giving you a great deal of … attention lately,” Volstagg  
conceded

Fandral shrugged. “I have seen him look down your tunic a time or two, but who among us has  
not done so?”

Hogun (who had returned to help with the rebuilding) stared at Fandral in horror. Volstagg  
dropped a joint of meat on the floor.

“I don't!” They both said in unison.

Fandral began muttering about something that needed tending elsewhere, and scuttled out of the  
room. That was the last they spoke of it.

When the proclamation was made that the now heirless Allfather was going to select a bride  
from amongst the fairest and most noble women of the Aesir, Sif's heart lodged in the toe of her boot.

She tried to console herself with the fact that she was neither the most noble nor the most fair of  
the Aesir women, but still, she knew in the marrow of her bones what was to come.

So she was not even slightly shocked when a messenger came to kneel at her feet while she  
supped in the feasting hall. Before the assembled company he declared that Odin had found her “of all  
women, most brave, most fierce, most fair, and most worthy to rule at the Allfather's side and bear his  
sons.”

Usually the formulated phrase for such occasions did not include anything about being the most  
brave or the most fierce. It was, Sif thought much later, rather nice that Odin had added that part.

There was no point in being upset. It would prove nothing and serve no purpose. It was a great  
honor that was being conferred upon her. And she would hardly be the first woman forced to marry  
where her heart did not lie.

Besides, when your heart has gone mad, tried to usurp a throne, fallen from the Bifrost,  
committed unspeakable crimes, returned home in chains and disgrace, and finally come to rest at last  
amid the arid sands of Svartalfheimr, what does it matter who you marry?

Her thoughts were interrupted by the a knock at the door that connected the dressing room to  
the bedchamber. Sif called out for the knocker to enter.

Odin stepped into the room, a goblet of wine in hand. He too had put off all of his finery, and  
now he was clad in a simple robe of wolf fur, his feet bare. She wondered idly if she had ever seen his  
feet before. She thought not.

“You look very fetching, my dear,” he said.

Sif tried in vain to wet her lips with a tongue gone dry as dust. “Thank you. You look very well,  
also.”

He gave one of his sharp barks of laughter. “Let us not begin our union with flattering lies, Lady  
Sif.” He dropped into a claw footed chair near the dressing table with a sigh. “I am too old and too  
weary for such things. Instead, let us get to know each other a little better. There is a question that I  
have long wished to ask you.”

Know each other better? He had known her since infancy. What in the world could he wish to  
ask. “I will answer any question you ask truthfully, my lord.”

He smiled, and his one good eye gave an ominous twinkle. “Very good! Then tell me, which of  
my sons are you in love with?”

The brush slipped from Sif's fingers to clatter on the flagstone floor.

“You need not be dismayed. I do not hold it against you. Obviously you do not imagine that you  
are my own one true love. Neither of us come to this marriage...whole, I think.”

That was surely true. For the first time in a very long time, she felt a small glimmer of hope.  
Perhaps their losses could be a bond between them. Perhaps they could even be friends, in time. 

Of course that all might depend on whether or not he was disgusted when she made her  
preference known. It would take bravery to tell him.

But was she not the bravest and the fiercest woman of the Aesir?

“Loki,” she said.

Odin gave an amused grunt. “Truly? I must admit, I am rather disappointed in your taste.”

That was a fairly mild response, all things considered. She offered him her own mildness in  
return.

“One cannot always help one's taste, my lord.”

“That is true enough. There is no accounting for who a man or a woman will fancy. But still, I  
am rather puzzled at what so fine and upright a lady, and so great a warrior, could find to admire in the  
worthless beast that Loki turned out to be.”

“He was not worthless!” She could not have held back the outburst if she had tried. “He died a  
noble death.”

Odin dismissed that with a flick of the wrist. “What value has a noble death if it comes at the  
end of an evil life?”

“I do not believe it was an evil life.”

“And what was he, if not evil?”

Sif picked up her comb. Toying with the worn, familiar ivory tines helped to ground her a little,  
to take the edge from her rage and hurt, and leave enough space between them for rational thought.

“He was mad,” she said at last. “Mad, and lost. One does not have to be evil to commit evil  
acts.”

“I hardly think the people of Midgard would agree with you.”

She turned to face him, feeling her face flush hot with indignation. “You cannot hold him  
responsible for what he did on Midgard! That Thanos creature bewitched him and worked through him;  
your own healers told you so.”

Odin shrugged. “Thanos could not have found purchase in his mind if it were not for his own  
malice.”

“Thor thinks that...” she stopped abruptly. Everyone in the palace knew that the King had  
forbidden Thor and Frigga to speak of Loki in his presence. Quoting Thor's thoughts about Loki might  
not be a good idea.

“Go on. What does Thor think?”

“He thinks that Thanos tortured Loki, and that it might have had a hand in softening his mind.”

“That may be so, but even if one were to discount everything that happened with Thanos behind  
it, there is the matter of everything that went before. Have you forgotten that he tried to kill you with  
the Destroyer?”

Sif reached up to rub her aching temples. For weeks before the wedding she had been dreading  
the wedding night. She would have thought there was nothing that she would not do to put off the last  
part of the evening, but now she was more than ready to lie back and think of Asgard if it would put an  
end to this conversation.

“Madness,” she said through gritted teeth. “Have I not said that already?”

“It is most commendable that you would forgive his attempts to kill you, but what of your  
friends? What of Thor?”

“If Loki had truly wanted any of us dead, we would be.”

“Do you really believe that?”

She set down the comb and forced her hands flat on the top of the dresser to hide their shaking.  
The marble was like a sheet of ice beneath her palms. 

“I do. He died saving Thor's life, did he not? Is that the act of man who wished Thor dead?”

Odin shrugged.

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“Perhaps Thor saw what he wished to see, instead of what was.”

“You doubt Thor's word?”

“No. I doubt his ability to see his brother without sentiment clouding his perception.”

Feeling utterly exhausted, Sif shrugged. “Believe what you wish, it matters not. Loki is at  
peace, at last, in the halls of Valhalla.”

“I wonder,” Odin said. “Valhalla is only for those of brave heart. I cannot help but think that is  
one of the many fine qualities that Loki did not possess.

That was it. Now it was not just her hands that were shaking, but her entire body. The words  
erupted from her with volcanic force.

“Yes, fine! You are right about all of it! Loki was a beast and a murderer and a coward, and  
every drop of his blood was evil! And still, I loved him. I loved him the way you loved your Frigga. He  
was my treasure, my best thing, and even when he was in the dungeons where I knew I would never see  
him again, my world was better because he still lived in it. Do you still want me now, Allfather? Do  
you still want this body now that you have seen the dead heart beneath the flesh?!”

She could not see Odin's face, for the whole room had blurred behind a wash of tears. She  
buried her face in her hands and began to sob. Not gentle ladylike sniffles, but wracking, tearing, lung-  
ripping sobs.

She heard his chair creak in protest as he leapt to his feet. She heard his goblet fall to the floor  
and shatter. She braced for a slap, or for him to drag her from the chair and fling her out into the hall in  
disgust. 

But all she felt was his hands, fluttering helplessly about her shoulders.

“Don't cry! Oh Sif, my Sif, please don't cry. I am so, so sorry!”

It was not Odin's voice that she heard.

She raised her head, and there, white faced and looking as pained as if she had just thrust a  
dagger into his heart, was Loki.

She looked at him, and knew it could not be real. Either she was going mad (quite likely) or  
Odin was using an illusion, either in a misguided effort to comfort her, or in a highly effective effort to  
torment her.

He must have read these thoughts in her eyes. “I am quite real, Sif, it is no trick, and you are  
quite sane.”

She just shook her head.

He dropped to his knees beside the chair, and took her hand in both of his. “Our first kiss was in  
the apple orchard,” he said. “We were sitting together on one of the bigger branches. I'd been trying to  
work up the courage to do it for a week, and I finally decided I could wait no longer. I grabbed you  
around the waist and made it as far as putting my lips to yours before you shoved me instinctively, and  
I went tumbling out of the tree. Later you were kind enough to tell everyone that I broke my ribs  
wrestling a wild boar that got away.”

It took several tries for Sif to find her voice, but she finally managed. “That proves who you are,  
but it does not prove I haven't gone mad.”

“Sanity is overrated, my love. And at least we can go to the madhouse together.”

She threw her arms around him, and buried her nose in the crook of his neck. She would have  
known then, whether or not he had said a word. She knew the smell of him as well as she knew her  
own flesh. He smelled of frankincense and myrrh and the woods on a winter night.

For one blissful moment all she did was hold him, and revel in the feeling of his arms around her.

“How?” she asked at last. Then a frisson of fear zinged down her spine. “And where is Odin?”

Loki chuckled softly against her ear. “To answer the easiest and most upsetting question first, the Allfather is quite well. He is in the Odinsleep, and I have placed him in a spot both comfortable and safe. I will be happy to take you there, whenever you wish. He is sleeping very deeply, and will probably do so for some time. The loss of Mother … was hard for him. He needs rest and healing.

As for the first question, I am not quite sure, to be frank.”

Sif frowned. “How can you not be sure? Surely, if things happened as Thor said, it must have  
been one of your illusions...”

In response, he opened his robe. Just beneath his sternum, the smooth flesh was marred by a  
long red line that was no longer a wound, but not quite a scar yet.

“No illusion, I fear.”

She touched the mark gently, feeling the raised, ragged edges of the gash. She knew there would  
be another just like it upon his back. “Does it pain you?”

“Not really. A twinge every now and then, but that is all.”

She shook her head. “Thor was certain you were dead. He said that you were impaled clean  
through, and he thought that the blade might have been poisoned because of... because...”

“The way I began to crumble a bit, toward the end, like a stale pastry?” His eyes twinkled with  
a spark of familiar, wicked humor. “I rather hope poison was to blame. If not, there will be quite a mess  
to clean up when I finally do shuffle off this mortal coil.”

“He said you died in his arms.”

“For a bit there, I thought I had. It was the strangest thing.” He tilted his head to one side, his  
gaze both thoughtful and distant. “It hurt at first, quite tremendously. Then I sent that great Elven beast  
to his reward, and that made me feel a bit better. By the time Thor gathered me up, I just felt cold, and weary. I told him what I needed him to know, and then I … it felt as though I fell asleep. It was as if I  
had finally climbed into bed at the end of a long, long day. It felt as though I had been fighting sleep  
forever, and now I could finally give in, and rest.”

A faint smile tugged at his lips. “It felt quite wonderful, actually. I enjoyed it much more than  
falling from the Bifrost.”

“Stop that,” Sif whispered. “My heart hurts enough as it is. Just tell me how you managed to  
survive.”

“I don't think I managed anything, really. After I fell away from myself, I saw...I ...” He paused,  
and swallowed hard. She felt a tremor run through him.

She squeezed his hand. “What did you see?”

“ I saw my mother,” he whispered. “We were together in a place that I could not really see;  
everything around us was golden and blurred. All I could see clearly was her. She embraced me, and all  
I wanted in that moment was to stay with her, to stay in her arms until the end of time. 

But she looked up at me, and she smiled, even though there were tears in her eyes. 'Not yet,' she  
said. 'The Norns are not yet finished with the threads of you life. I have looked at the cloth they weave,  
and oh, my son, what wonderful things are still in store for you. The weft of these last few years is dark  
as night without end, but what comes after is woven with all the colors of dawn. I will not lie and say  
that I will not miss you, but I could not bear to keep you from all of the good things that are yet to  
come. Now you must go. And you must tell both your brother and your father that I love them, and that  
they cannot blame themselves for my death.'

Then she shoved me away from here, and I fell. That was quite a lot like falling from the  
Bifrost. Cold, and endless stars.

Finally it felt as if I had hit the ground, and I opened my eyes to find myself back on  
Svartalfheimr .”

Tears trickled from Sif's eyes, and she made no effort to wipe them away. Even in death, the  
Allmother still took care of the ones she loved.

“What happened then?”

“As soon as I was fairly certain that my inward parts were going to stay put, I rose and looked for Thor. He was nowhere near, and I lacked the strength to look very far, and also the strength to be of  
much help if I did find him. So I shifted my shape to reflect one of the King's guard, and came home.

I was thinking just to find some quiet place to rest for a few days, but then I passed the throne-  
room, and I saw Odin there, alone. Then, then I could not let it be. I had to know.

So I went to the foot of the throne, and I told him that I had just come from the Dark World. He  
asked for news of Thor, and I told him that there was none, but that a body had been found.”

“Oh, Loki,” Sif sighed. 

“I know. But I had to see what he would say, at the news of my death. 

I told him, and he sank down in the throne. He looked so... so old. So frail. I had never thought  
that Odin Allfather could look that way while he still lived. 

He said to me, 'I have lost my wife, and now my youngest son. My heir has committed treason,  
and is now facing alone a threat he can never hope to overcome. Even if Malekith is defeated in some  
way, what is left to me?' ”

A faint, bitter smile twisted Loki's lips. “I have dreamed so long of a moment like that one. A  
moment in which to take my revenge. And then when it came, I could not, no matter how I tried.

I let my seeming drop. And for the first time in so, so long, I saw joy in my father's face when he looked on me.”

Sif gazed up into Loki's eyes, and saw in them a man she had long thought lost to her.

“The shock was too much for him,” he continued. “He slumped in the throne, and I went to him  
to make sure it was the Odinsleep falling upon him, and nothing … worse. I started to call for help, but  
then I realized that I could not. Mother was gone, Thor was both missing, and at that time, guilty of  
treason, and now Odin was lost. Asgard was suffering through the first invasion on her own soil since  
the time of Bor, and just over the Bifrost were a hundred petty rebellions smoldering, waiting for any  
sign of weakness to fan them back into flame. Asgard could not afford to be seen kingless and in  
disarray before her enemies.”

“So you hid Odin away, and took his place.”

“That is about the long and short of it.”

Sif felt her pulse flutter at the base of her throat like a trapped butterfly. There was one more  
question left to ask, and she dreaded what the answer might be.

“I can see that you did the only thing you could. But how long do you intend to keep up the  
charade?”

He shrugged. “Until Odin wakes, or until Thor tires of his mortal friends and decides he he will  
take the throne after all. Whichever comes first.”

A breath she had not realized she was holding whooshed from her chest. “Then you will not  
fight to remain King?”

“I think not. It pains me to say it, but in these two months I have gained a wholly new respect  
for my father. I do not think I can imagine keeping this up for another year, let alone another century.”  
He laid his head upon her lap, and gave a deep sigh.

“I am so tired, my Sif,” he whispered.

She stroked his hair, relishing the feeling of the silky strands slipping beneath her fingers. “I  
think I know why you are so weary.”

“Recent catastrophic blood loss?”

“That does not help, I'm sure, but it is only part of the problem.”

“What is the other part?”

“Kings are not meant to rule alone. Your father could never have ruled all of these thousands of  
years without your mother. You need someone to take care of you.” 

“Is that so?” His tone was teasing, but when he glanced up at her, she saw tears shimmer in his  
eyes. “Do you know anyone willing to apply for that post?”

“In fact I do.” She kept stroking his hair soothingly. “I will be your gatekeeper and your guard  
dog. I will be your counsel and your confidant. I will be your comfort and your rest. And,” she added,  
giving his hair a playful tug. “If you begin to think yourself infallible, I will administer a beating that  
will convince you otherwise.”

“You would do all of that for me, after all that has happened since Jotunheimr? And after I  
tricked you into marrying me, and drove you to tears just moments ago?”

She wiped away his own tears with gentle fingers. “For the first, I refer you to everything that I  
have already said on that score. Second, your 'trickery' in this case was much like telling a child you  
have cooked her a pot of liver and onions, and then handing her a big slice of cake instead. But I will  
admit that I did not enjoy being put to the question. Was that really necessary?”

“I am sorry, my love, but it was. In the beginning I only wished to know if you could bear the  
sight of me. Then I kept pushing you because I could not believe my good fortune.”

“You idiot. You should have had no need to ask such a foolish question.”

“You must admit that our last meeting was less than tender.”

“Just because I did not trust you with Thor did not mean that I did not rejoice in the sight of  
you, Loki. I never stopped loving you, I just stopped being proud that I did.”

“I never stopped loving you, either, though I have not shown it well. And oh, how I have missed  
you.” He made a sound that teetered on the edge between laughter and sob. “At first I tried to content  
myself with glimpses of you. I invented duties for you, just so that I could look upon your face. Then  
the privy council came to me, and told me that I must wed again, for the good of the realm. And your  
name was mentioned. I simply could not help it, my Sif. The temptation was far too great.” He caught  
her hand, and brought it to his lips.

“I will give you everything fine in life, my love. Anything I have to give is yours for the  
asking.”

“There are only two things I would ask of you. They can be my wedding gifts.”

“Anything.”

“I want you to let Thor in on the secret. The loss of you broke his heart.”

He sighed. “Very well. But let me wait just a little longer, till the end of our honeymoon. Let  
him enjoy his Jane without worrying about Asgard, while I enjoy you.”

“That seems fair enough.”

“Good. And what is your second request, Sif Lokiswife?”

Her face broke into a grin at the sound of that name. “Are we really and truly wed then? I feared the ceremony had not been binding, as you were...not yourself.”

“Oh yes. The sword I presented you with belonged to Laufey's great grandfather, and you do not  
even wish to know what I had to do to get it. The ceremony was binding. But tell me, what else do you  
want for your wedding gift? My blood? My soul? The moon and a barnfull of straw spun into gold?”

“No, none of that. Just a promise. Promise me that the next time you die, whether it be temporary or permanent, you will take me with you. I have seen a world without you, and it does not  
suit me.”

In answer, Loki made a strangled sound in the back of his throat, and crushed her to him. Their  
kiss was savage, and Sif tasted both tears and blood, though she could not have said from which of  
them they came.

He only let her go long enough to stand, and then he scooped her from the chair and into his  
arms. He carried her to the bed, and laid down amongst the furs and cushions.

The wolf fur robe was soon a puddle at his feet, and with a few deft rips he reduced her  
nightgown to a pile of luminous rags. For a moment he just stood looking at her, tears drying on his  
cheeks in streaks of salt. 

“I did not make you a queen, Sif,” he said. “I merely made known to the Nine Realms that  
which I have always known is true. And I will make you proud of me.”

“I already am. Now come here, and put that silver tongue of yours to more practical use.”

His grin was white and sharp as the crescent moon. “As my Queen commands.”

 

Thor surveyed the grim faces around him in his father's council chambers. Nearly every one of  
Odin's most important advisors were gathered there.

And none of them would make eye contact with him. Their gazes bounced around the room like  
ping pong balls.

“Thank you for coming, my Prince,” said his father's Sensechal, looking fixedly at a spot to the  
left of Thor's head.

“Certainly. How may I be of help?”

“It is... a rather delicate matter. You see, neither your lord father nor his Queen have left his  
chambers in more than four days. They do not respond when we knock at the door...”

“Though the last time I did hear something hit the other side of the door,” Heimdall added. “It  
sounded like a boot.”

“Yes, a boot.” The Senseschal wiped at his sweating brow. “Food placed in front of the door  
vanishes, but the servants never seem to see anyone retrieving it. We are becoming concerned. Your  
father is not a young man, and...”

“Yes, I see.” He hated that he did, but he did. “What do you wish me to do?”

“We thought that perhaps if you knocked at the door, Their Majesties might not turn you away.  
We just wish to know that the Allfather is in good health.”

And so Thor found himself before the door to his father's bedchamber, and filled with no little  
trepidation.

He knocked. No answer.

“Father? Sif? Are you there? I would speak with you.”

Such a long silence followed that he was about to turn and leave. Then the door opened just a  
crack, to reveal Sif's face.

Her face...

Her hair was in complete disarray. Her lips were red as blood, and slightly swollen. The look in  
her eyes was both dazed and oddly manic. 

Once she had gotten in the way when he threw the lightning at one of their foes. The way she  
had looked afterward was much the way she looked now.

“Is something wrong?” she demanded. Her voice was hoarse, as with too much shouting.

Yes, he thought. Yes, it is. So wrong. “I just wanted to make sure that you have all that you  
need, and that Father is well.”

“Yes, he is well, all is well. Thank you for coming by; see you soon...”

She seemed about to shut the door in his face, but Odin's voice boomed from the room beyond.

“Thor, is that you? Is anything amiss?”

He certainly sounded well enough, if perhaps a bit hoarse, like Sif. Thor truly did not wish to  
dwell on the implications. “No, sir. I just wanted to see if there was anything that you needed.”

“As a matter of fact, there is. Could you have someone send up some pomegranate seeds, a pot  
of melted chocolate, and a goose feather?”

The door did slam shut then. Beyond it, Thor heard Sif speaking in a chastising tone, though he  
could not make out the words. Then she descended into gales of shrieking laughter.

Thor recognized the rhythm and tone of that laughter from their childhood.

She was being tickled.

He fled.

He went down to the kitchens to place an order for melted chocolate, pomegranate seeds, and a  
goose feather for the royal couple.

And for himself, he ordered enough ale to drown a large dog.

 

END


End file.
